The darkness was absolute. Thick, heavy, pressing down on her eyelids.

…What time is it.

My consciousness stirred, slow, hesitant, as though the very act of waking was an impossible feat. My body felt unfamiliar—too heavy, simultaneously numb and tingling. I did not open my eyes immediately. First, I listened.

The silence was absolute, beside the maddnening hiss of the wind that leaked trough the cracked window, carrying the faint scent of cold earth and pine. It made the curtains shiver slightly, in a ghostly manner.

I drew in a shallow breath and let it out slowly. The air smelled of old linen, wood polish, and something faintly metallic—perhaps from the faint rust on the hinges of the narrow window. My fingers twitched, brushing against the rough quilt beneath her. The fabric was coarse but clean. She felt its weight over her legs and torso, grounding her in a strange way.

Light had not yet entered the room; it was the kind of darkness that allowed shapes to form, shadows to gather, but no details. The edges of the bed, the wall, the narrow window were only dim impressions, floating in a muted gray.

The wind tugged again at the curtains, a gentle, persistent motion. My gaze followed it, though my eyes were still adjusting. The movement was hypnotic, subtle, almost like the room itself was breathing alongside me. It made the shadows flicker and dance, and for a moment, I wondered if the room was alive—or if I simply was awake enough now to feel it.

My chest rose and fell slowly. I became aware of my own body again: the stiffness in my neck, surely from sleeping with a bad posture, the slight ache in my shoulders, the faint tingle running down my spine. Muscles that did not move easily.

This is what they call sleep paralysis?

I flexed her toes under the quilt, feeling the faint friction of fabric against skin. Each motion was deliberate, careful, as though she were reacquainting herself with being.

A sound drifted to my ears, carried on the wind. A distant tap of something outside—a branch brushing against a shutter, or perhaps the faint patter of leaves. It was insignificant, yet it anchored me awareness, pulling me into the present. My mind, still sluggish from sleep, noted it but did not name it, did not judge it. It simply was.

Slowly, very slowly, I shifted on the mattress. The blanket slipped over my shoulder, and I let it fall slightly, exposing a forearm to the chill. A shiver ran through me, and I pressed my hand against my forehead, rubbing my tired eyes, to wake myself up.

My eyes roamed the room more fully now. The walls were bare, save for the faded plaster and the occasional dark knot in the wood. The bed was narrow, the pillow firm and slightly lumpy, but it was real. The window, small and high, let in nothing but the restless wind. Curtains trembled again, and a slight draft made the edges of the blanket dance.

I exhaled slowly, deliberately.

I tried to move her head, rolling it to one side, careful. A faint groan of the mattress responded beneath, an acknowledgement of my presence. 

Slowly, the sensation of helplessness subsided.

The wind tugged at the curtains again, a gentle insistence. I reached out a hand, letting my fingers brush the fabric. It was soft, slightly cool, and trembling. I held it briefly, aware of the connection between my touch and the motion, aware of the world outside that I could not yet see but could feel.

The tremor of the curtains mirrored the tremor of my own heart.

My thoughts drifted without coherence. I listened to the silence between creaks and whispers of wind, each pause stretching, folding into the next.

I flexed my fingers, slowly, deliberately. I lifted one hand to my face, brushing a strand of hair away from my temple. It fell softly against the pillow.

Then I became aware of the temperature of the room. Warm.

Slowly, the light outside shifted, trough the cracks of the door—subtle, almost imperceptible. The room began to reveal itself more fully. I realized the wind had died down slightly; the curtains hung more still, though a faint tremble lingered.

I sat up slowly.

The mattress creaked beneath her weight, and my back protested the motion with faint stiffness. I wrapped the blanket around myself, pulling it tighter, relishing the warmth it offered.

I could feel the smeel of smoke.

I leaned forwars, letting the blanket fall around my shoulders. My eyes rested on the door.

I jump out of the bed and open the door at a fast speed.

Fire.

The damn inn was on fire, and the strong smeel of fire rushed in, and i coughed as i was robbed of air.

The window.

I rushed to the window and opened it wide. I could hear the villagers screaming and calling for help from their neighbours.
And in the middle of that maddness, it was him. Waiting.

He slowly raised his arms, gesturing me to jump.

‘No shit’

I look back at the door, who was fumming trough the cracks and then back at him. I guess the man was a true madmann, hiding his true nature. Burning the inn from its ground, luring me out like a rat. Such a twisted way to get revenge, isn’t it?

But I am more twisted, so i choose to climb down the balcony and jump to the nearest tree, and make my escape. To where? Who knows.

The balcony railing trembled under my grip as I swung one leg over. My gaze flicked past him, to the tree just a little ways out. Branches stretching toward me like an escape route carved by fate itself. The leaves danced in the fire.

I would climb, leap, claw, and disappear into the shadows. He’d watch me vanish and choke on his own arrogance.

I lowered myself, balancing against the creaking wood, and lunged for the tree. My fingers brushed bark, caught hold. I scrambled up, coughing, vision streaked with tears but heart pounding with the thrill of victory. The flames roared from behind, villagers screamed, and all I could think was—

I’m winning.

But the tree had other plans.

The bark crumbled under my palms, slick with night-damp. My foot slipped, scraping desperately for purchase. The branch that had seemed so solid shuddered under my weight, groaning like it shared in my suffering.

“No, no, no, no—” My nails scraped. My arms shook. The branch cracked.

And then the gravity  yanked me down.

I fell.

Not with grace, not with dignity, but with flailing limbs and a scream torn raw from my throat. The ground rushed up to meet me— and didn’t.

Because he did.

Of course he did.

I crashed into Atlas’s arms like some damsel, my lungs emptying with the impact. The air around him smelled faintly of smoke, faintly of pine, and overwhelmingly of victory. Not mine. His.

For a heartbeat, the world froze. The fire raged behind us. Villagers shouted, buckets clanged, chaos reigned—and there I was, trapped in his hold, clutched tight.

Rage boiled through my veins hotter than the fire I’d just escaped. My fists clenched. I wanted to pound at his chest, to scream and fight. But my body, traitor that it was, was still stunned from the fall. My limbs trembled uselessly.

His grip tightened slightly, steadying me. Like I was something fragile. Like he was saving me.

“Put me down!” I rasped, wriggling like a fish on a hook. “I said put me—” My voice cracked, coughing instead of spilling words.

He didn’t. His eyes, shadowed by the firelight, looked down at me with that calm gaze of his.

My teeth ground together so hard I thought I’d break them.

I had been so close.

The forest had been there, freedom in arm’s reach. I had touched the tree, felt it beneath my fingers, tasted the possibility of escape on the back of my tongue. And still, still, I ended up here. In his arms.

Humiliation burned hotter than the fire.

I twisted again, shoving at his chest, kicking against him. It was useless, of course. He didn’t budge, not even a fraction. He might as well have been carved from stone.

“Just why-” I spat, or tried to. It came out between coughs, weak. Exactly the opposite of what I wanted.

His arms only shifted to hold me more securely, like he was protecting me from the smoke, from the fire, from everything but the truth—that I had lost. Again.

I tilted my head back, the sight of the burning inn filling my vision. The flames clawed at the sky, smoke coiling upward like dark ribbons. Villagers swarmed like ants, their shouts carrying desperation and fear. And me? I was caught.

In the arms of the very man I had sworn to escape from.

Frustration clawed at my insides, threatening to tear me apart. Every step forward I had taken had been stripped from me, turned on its head, shoved back in my face. The universe wasn’t just mocking me—it was rolling on the floor, kicking its legs, howling with laughter.

I will win, I swore silently. Even if it kills me.

“Stop. Where are we going?”

He just took a few steps away, into the darkness, away from the comotion.

“…Far away from this place.”